


Ten Lords a Leaping

by ddagent



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Christmas Smut, F/F, Family, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 05:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13116933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: This isn't how divorce is supposed to work. A McKinnie-Wolfe family Christmas, written for the Berena Christmas Challenge.





	Ten Lords a Leaping

**Author's Note:**

> So this was written and edited whilst sleep deprived (thanks 4am start) and in a lot of pain (thanks falling down the stairs) so I hope it reads okay. I've been wanting to write ex wives Berena for *ages* so I hope you like it. Huge love to my Christmas Angel, ktlsyrtis who was an amazing cheerleader and reader; and to the other ladies in the Berena Christmas club. Happy reading!

“One last toast! To your mother: a fabulous dinner, Bernie, thank you very much.”

Four wine glasses met at the head of the table. _To Mum._ Serena smiled, drained the rest of her glass, and watched her family finish their dessert. Charlotte polished off a bowl of ice cream; never one for Christmas pudding. Rather than eating, Elinor took a picture of hers and began experimenting with filters. Bernie, full from goose and homemade stuffing, toyed with two raisins and a few dark crumbs. Their eyes met over dim candlelight.

This wasn’t how being divorced was supposed to work.

It hadn’t been planned; the McKinnie-Wolfe family Christmas. Bernie, blown back home by an IED, was meant to have the girls for Christmas Day. A picture perfect Christmas to make up for all the ones she’d missed. Extravagant presents under the tree; three course dinner on a newly bought dining room table; party games and Monopoly for all. Ten guests had been invited; ten name cards made and ten napkins folded into the shape of a crown. But Ten Lords a Leaping had quickly become Three Holby Hens when Bernie’s family and friends had cancelled last minute. Serena’s invitation had also been at the eleventh hour. She’d turned up on Bernie’s doorstep, hoping to catch a glimpse of their daughters, before returning to an empty house to be the single partridge in the pear tree.

Bernie had asked her to stay. Serena couldn’t think of a single reason to say no.

 “Mum, can we open presents now?”

Spoons down; meal over. Time for _presents._ Elinor and Charlotte looked to their mother sitting at the head of the table, practically vibrating as they waited for her answer. Bernie didn’t need to look at Serena for approval. They hadn’t been married for ten years. But Bernie glanced her way, waited for the familiar smile, before giving her assent. “Of course! But no opening until we’re all in front of the tree.”

Acting five rather than twenty-five, Elinor and Charlotte rushed from the table to poke and prod the small pile of brightly wrapped presents. Serena grabbed her glass, taking up position in the armchair in front of the tree. It felt _odd_ doing this in Bernie’s home. The tree was plastic rather than fir; the ornaments generic rather than handmade. No carols on the stereo and no box of chocolate liquors on the coffee table. Yet Serena didn’t feel like a guest at her family’s Christmas. She had helped Bernie prepare dinner; made the usual surgery jokes over the turkey. Now she sat, Bernie perched on the arm of her chair, as they watched their girls unwrap their gifts. _Just like old times._  

“Can we start, Mum?”

“Of course!”

Bernie fiddled with her phone; first blinding them with the flash, then somehow taking a selfie of Serena and herself. With a little help, Bernie switched cameras and took shot after shot of their girls tearing into gold and silver paper. They would be welcome additions to the boxes and boxes of photographs of previous family Christmases. Birthdays, christenings, Halloweens. First days of school and university graduations. In the New Year, Serena would have to talk to her nephew about digitally converting the prints. It only seemed right for Bernie to have a copy.

“Top up?”

“Hmm?” Bernie was pointing at Serena’s empty wine glass. “Like you have to ask.”

She handed Bernie her glass, watching as her ex-wife attended to the makeshift bar in the living room. She bypassed vodka and whiskey in favour of the bottles at the back. Thankfully, Bernie stocked Shiraz. A rather delicious Australian vintage. “I have to say, Bernie, I’m rather impressed with your wine selection. Most people stock a Merlot, not a Shiraz.”

Bernie shrugged as she passed over the glass. “It’s second nature to me, now, really. We’ve been divorced ten years but whenever I buy a red, it has to be Shiraz.”  

“Well, you have _excellent_ taste in wine.”

“I have excellent taste in women.”

Serena’s gaze lifted from the rim of her glass; staring into Bernie’s eyes. They were warm, welcoming. Desire spiked low in her belly; as if they were a real couple rather than exes playing nice for their kids. Was Bernie suffering from a similar reaction? But the moment – if they were having a moment – was broken by Elinor’s squeals as she unwrapped another gift. Serena quickly busied herself with her glass of wine whilst Bernie continued to take pictures. She’d thought the moment in the kitchen earlier, hands touching under soapy water, was a fluke. _Obviously not._

Serena was spared further introspection by Charlotte placing a present in her lap. “For you, Mum. _It’s from Santa_.”

Elinor snorted. “I sure hope Santa wraps better than that.”

Elinor was not wrong. The small gift was wrapped in half a reel of sellotape and two different rolls of wrapping paper. Clearly this was wrapped by a Wolfe rather than an elf. Serena smiled at Bernie, patting her knee. “You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s just a little something. To thank you for letting me have the girls. It’s nothing, really.”

Serena doubted that. Bernie couldn’t wrap for toffee but she was an _excellent_ gift giver. Although Serena would have preferred her gift without loose strands of fluff and hair stuck underneath the tape.

Under the tree, Ellie rolled her eyes. “Mum, did you _never_ try to teach Mum how to wrap?”

“I tried my best, Elinor, thank you very much. One Christmas, when you were five, we spent an entire evening wrapping presents from Father Christmas. There was a ruler and a sellotape dispenser and _several_ bottles of Shiraz. But come my birthday, we were back to _this._ ”

They laughed; Bernie holding up her hands in mock surrender. “Excuse me, it has _character._ ”

“It has a price tag.”

Bernie leapt across Serena’s lap to snatch the present. But Serena kept it out of reach; tossing the paper aside to reveal a beautiful hand-knitted scarf. It would go perfectly with the new coat she had just bought. Bernie had clearly been paying attention. She’d also spent a small fortune. Reaching for the trauma surgeon with the pink cheeks, Serena pressed her lips awkwardly to the blush.

“Thank you, Bernie; I love it.”

“You’re, ah, you’re very welcome.”

They finished unwrapping the rest of the presents. Charlotte had a stack of new books to read and a new iPad. Elinor had an eye wateringly large amount of makeup and a few plays for the amateur actress to absorb. She had bought her mother a fleece lined throw (“in case you get cold after being in Afghanistan for _forever_ ”) and Charlotte had sorted out an Amazon fire stick and a Netflix account (“so you can catch up on all the television you’ve missed”). With dinner and presents out the way, there was still one last element to the McKinnie-Wolfe family Christmas.

“So, who wants to play a game? I’ve got Cluedo, Monopoly, Twister…something with a chicken that makes the most god awful noise. Who’s in?”

Ellie and Charlotte swivelled in Serena’s direction. “Don’t look at me; you know I’m always referee.”

“Oh come on Mum.”

“If we have to play, _you_ have to play!”

Serena shook her head. “No, _no,_ you know the rules of the McKinnie-Wolfe family Christmas. Mummy Serena is referee, and anyone found cheating has to eat all the Bounty’s out of the Celebrations tin. _It’s tradition_. Now go on, play with your mother.”

They opted for Cluedo; any trivia based game immediately ruled out due to Bernie’s complete lack of knowledge about anything that wasn’t medicine, whiskey, or Serena McKinnie. Serena watched the three of them move the pieces around the board; immediately transported back fifteen years to when they would play Monopoly or, god forbid, Pictionary. Those were the family Christmases she remembered; those were the family Christmases that every one post-divorce had tried to live up to. But they never did. This…this was close.  

But all good things must come to an end. Charlotte was spending Boxing Day with her new beau in London, and Elinor wanted to get up early to hit the sales. They packed up their presents, grabbed their coats, and kissed both their mothers at the door. Bernie had never been tactile, but neither Elinor nor Charlotte left without a bone crunching hug.

Outside, Elinor began scraping the car free of a late frost. In the doorway, Charlotte kissed Serena’s cheek before saying, “Are you sure you don’t want a lift home, Mum?”

“No, it’s fine. I want to help your Mum clear up. A little thank you for putting up with me all day.”

Charlotte smiled. “I’m glad you came. It’s nice that we can still be a family, especially at Christmas.”

They shared another hug before Charlotte helped her sister de-ice the car. Serena closed the door; slipping through the house into the dining room. Bernie sat at the head of the table, nursing two fingers of Glen Moray. Serena poured herself another glass of wine, killing the bottle. Without their daughters, conversation faltered. Serena fiddled with the corners of a napkin that used to be a crown.

“Have you had a good Christmas, Bernie?” Serena found herself asking when the silence got too much.

Bernie nodded, her face splitting into a smile. “I really did. I can’t remember a better Christmas. I mean, I’m disappointed that all my guests would rather leap off a bridge than join me and the girls for dinner, but this was…this was perfect.” She reached for Serena’s hand, squeezed it. “Thank you for staying.”

“Thank you for having me. Certainly beats a crate of Shiraz and a turkey ready meal for one. And I’m sorry about your guests. It’s their loss.”

She meant it, too. There was no love lost between Serena and the Wolfe’s. They had not approved of their daughter’s choice of partner, and Serena had long held Bernie’s desire for her father’s approval as the reason for her opting for the army rather than the NHS. Since her return, Bernie had tried to repair the lines of communication. But to no avail. Her parents would rather stay in Worcester and visit their eldest son than see their middle child home from war and their gorgeous granddaughters. Bernie’s younger brother wasn’t much better; faking stomach flu to a _doctor_. As for Bernie’s army friends who had bailed at the last minute… _their loss._

“Thank you, Serena. And I hope Christmas here was slightly better than spending it with your mother.”

Serena snorted; grateful that Adrienne McKinnie was in Nottingham spending the season with her estranged daughter and grandson rather than with her. “Oh _god_ yes! Her call this morning was bad enough. Thirty seconds in and she’s already giving me a lecture over our marriage.” Bernie laughed. “You know the one; starts with you prioritising your career over family and ends with you turning me Sapphic with your magic vagina.”

Whiskey spurted from her mouth; Bernie immediately reaching for a napkin. “I’d forgotten my magic vagina.”

 “I hadn’t.”

Bernie stared, eyes darkening. Friendly banter was quickly becoming something more. Since her return from Afghanistan, most of their conversations had either been medical or about the girls. Rarely had there been a chance to just be _them._ With no girls, no medical emergency, the chemistry that always simmered between them came to a boil. Whilst initially unsure of Bernie’s intentions, of her _own,_ Serena had finally reached a conclusion. They weren’t getting back together. They were just going to have sex.

“So,” Bernie said, pushing her glass to one side. “Things with you and Robbie still-“

“-as ice cold as the brandy cream? Yes, they are.” Serena sipped her wine; holding Bernie’s gaze as she swiped her tongue across her top lip. “And Alex? Last I heard from Elinor, you two were _very_ much in love. Of course, the last I heard from _Charlotte,_ she was out of the picture. I didn’t see her name on one of these cards.”

Bernie shrugged. “A mutual break up. Whilst Alex was a wonderful girlfriend, we both agreed she wasn’t ready to become a stepmother.”

“Especially not to two girls her own age.”

A socked foot stabbed Serena in the shin. She glared at Bernie; aiming for threatening but her eyes were full of mirth. Bernie’s too.  “Alex is in her forties, thank you very much. She’s definitely older than the Canadian who keeps liking all your Facebook posts.”

Serena’s mouth fell open; memories of Buttons from Ric’s reunion flooding back. _Lovely lad. Lovely fingers. Certainly high on her list of exes. But not good enough to knock Bernie off the top spot._ “You’ve been cyber stalking me.”

“I prefer to call it _reconnaissance_.” Bernie winked. “I like to see that you’re happy, Serena.”

“I am. I hope you are too.”

They shared another look. Eyes darting to lips, throats, fingers. Memories of the last time they had done this (before the divorce, once after) and the last time they had _wanted_ to do this (so many nights in Boston, hopefully many more in Afghanistan). Serena drained her glass before reaching out, brushing Bernie’s hand with hers. A thumb caressed the back of Serena’s hand, a shiver running through both of them

“Are we really doing this?”

“Why not?” Serena smiled, anticipation churning her stomach.  She stood on unsteady legs and approached Bernie’s chair. “We’re two single, fully consenting adults. We’re both still attracted to each other. At least-“

“- _we are_.” Bernie’s eyes were almost black. They lingered on Serena’s mouth. “But we’re not getting back together. That would be-“

“-unwise. Irresponsible, even. This is a Christmas Day shag. Nothing more. Think you can handle that, soldier?”

Bernie didn’t answer. Just stood up, tugged her forward, and planted her lips firmly against Serena’s mouth. Their last kiss had not been that long ago; shared in Darwin after Bernie’s surgery. Sweet, chaste; full of reassurance and relief. Nothing like _this._ There was nothing sweet about the way their lips met; nothing gentle about Bernie’s tongue slipping inside Serena’s mouth. Bernie tasted of whiskey and brandy butter; her body warm and willing under Serena’s touch. Teeth nipped at her bottom lip; nibbled across her jaw line. Tomorrow there would be a bruise, dark and purple, over her pulse point. 

Suddenly they were moving. Two hands on Serena’s waist pushed her back, pressing her against the sideboard. Folded napkins and empty trays were tossed aside to make room. Bernie stood between Serena’s legs; leaving kiss after kiss whilst her fingers worked the buttons of her blouse. Desperation won over care and two buttons went flying. She didn’t mind. She’d missed those hands, those lips. Wanted nothing more than to feel those on every inch of her.

 “Are you really sure about this?”

Serena nodded. “Can’t think of anything I want more.”

Grinning, Bernie kissed her way across Serena’s décolletage; ran her tongue along the lace trim of her exposed bra. A soft moan caught at the back of Bernie’s throat as more lace was revealed; Serena’s nipples hard and wanting through the fabric. Her blouse was discarded, tossed on the floor like crumpled wrapping paper. Wet kisses were planted across her chest; her skin puckering in the cold air. Worn hands from years of surgery palmed her breasts; her nipple rubbing against the heel of Bernie’s hand. Serena _groaned_.

After working her nipples into tight peaks, Bernie reached for the zip of Serena’s jeans. She should feel embarrassed. Practically naked in her ex-wife’s dining room; said ex-wife’s tongue swirling along the inside of her thigh. But Serena didn’t care. Not when Bernie drew Serena’s knickers down her legs. Not when a tongue, warm and wet, pressed against her clit.

“God, Serena, you’re _soaked._ ”

Serena carded her fingers through messy curls; gently pushing her ex-wife against her cunt. Bernie’s tongue licked a long stripe against the right of Serena’s clit; swirled small circles to push her closer to the edge. A familiar dance after years of marriage. She was pleased that Bernie had remembered the steps. Soft moans were the music that they danced too; murmurs of _Bernie_ and the sound of a tongue against wet skin one hell of a soundtrack. Her eyes fluttered shut as Bernie’s tongue thrust inside her. Serena wrenched them open; determined to see the familiar blonde head bobbing between her thighs. It was her undoing; her orgasm crashing into her.

After falling again, and _again,_ Bernie gently eased her off the sideboard. Serena fell into her arms; Bernie’s hands steady on her waist. “Good?”

“Mmm. You haven’t lost your touch.” Serena leaned up; tongue pushing inside Bernie’s mouth to taste herself. Bernie’s fingers gripped her hair, pulling Serena flush against her. They only stopped to breathe. “Take me to bed, Bernie.”

She led the way. Past the kitchen (shirt off), up the stairs (jeans on the carpet), against the spare room door (undershirt _gone_ ). Eventually they fell into Bernie’s bedroom; lips fused and hands wandering. They crashed against rumpled sheets; Serena straddling Bernie’s hips. She followed a similar path to Bernie; mapping her former lover’s skin with fingertips and warm lips. There were scars Serena didn’t remember; marks that weren’t there ten years ago. Serena kissed each blemish, each scar. She placed a gentle kiss to the line bisecting Bernie’s heart. The IED could have easily left Elinor and Charlotte without her mother. Serena left another kiss to the puckered skin; grateful that it had brought Bernie back into their lives.

Serena continued her exploration of her ex-wife. Teeth tugged at an erect nipple; eager fingers pulling at the cups so Serena could slip a bud between her lips. Bernie squirmed underneath; squeezing her legs together. Serena sucked; curling her tongue around the exposed nipple whilst she massaged Bernie’s other breast. Her name was gasped in the cool quiet of Bernie’s room. Serena continued her ministrations, sliding a hand across Bernie’s stomach and underneath the lace trim of her knickers. She felt damp fabric against the back of her hand; Bernie wet and desperate. Two fingers claimed her; curling just so until Bernie’s spine bowed.

“Yes, _Serena,_ yes!”

Two fingers became three; Serena working Bernie open whilst her mouth left kiss after kiss to her bare breasts. Her thumb rubbed Bernie’s clit as her fingers pumped in and out. She was so close. Serena wondered how many lovers Bernie had taken since their divorce; whether they been able to get her this close, this quickly. How long had it taken them to learn that Bernie’s nipples liked to be pulled and sucked; her body overwhelmed with all sensation? Had they encouraged Bernie into toys; a dildo instead of fingers? It had only been post-divorce that Serena had truly experimented with the back room of Ann Summers. Serena was suddenly overcome with the thought of a strap on around Bernie’s hips, her own legs spread wide around her.

She pushed too hard, too fast; Bernie clenching around her fingers. _Serena_ was interchangeable with _God,_ and louder than they had ever dared with the girls in the house. She teased a second orgasm out of Bernie, and a third. Serena removed her fingers whilst Bernie’s eyes were still screwed shut. She couldn’t resist a taste. _Just as she remembered._

“That was-“ Bernie sagged against the bedspread. “ _Merry Christmas._ ”

Serena chuckled. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

Sated, the post coital awkwardness kicked in. Bernie adjusted the cups of her bra; her fingers unsure what else to do. Serena realised she was in nothing more than her knickers; suddenly feeling very exposed. She’d wanted sex. Had not anticipated the _after._ Of course, passion had never been their problem. Career, drive, ambition…these were the things that had ruined their marriage. Now that they’d had a Christmas Day shag, would they be heading for a Christmas Day argument?

Thankfully, Bernie rolled onto her side; hand lingering on Serena’s stomach. “I really enjoyed that.”  

Serena smiled, relieved; her fingertips tracing a pattern across Bernie’s thigh. “Me too.”

Bernie toyed with her bottom lip; dark eyes hiding under tussled curls. “I’m not really sure of the protocol here. Do you want to head home?”

“Do _you_ want me to head home?”

“I don’t want you to go.” Bernie looked at Serena like she had earlier that day, when both finally admitted how lonely they felt this Christmas. “Stay?”

Serena smiled, like she had done then; not truly understanding what would come of Bernie’s invitation. She didn’t understand what would come of this one, either. “Of course.”

If you had asked her last Christmas, Serena would have said this was the _last_ place she would ever expect to be. In bed, with her ex-wife, after a wonderful family Christmas and a truly amazing shag…a _fantasy,_ nothing more. _Bernie will never leave the RAMC,_ she would have said. But Bernie had proved her wrong. An IED had sent Bernie home; the pleas of two worried daughters keeping her there. Strangely, she even seemed _happy_ to be home. Working at St Francis; spending time with their daughters. A civilian life. If you had asked her last Christmas, Serena would have said that was impossible.  

Who knew what the New Year would bring?   


End file.
